Surprise
by Devilish Kurumi
Summary: Sequel to "Closet". Trent hates Californian rain. It's too full of surprises. Trent/Miles, allusions.


**A/N:** I couldn't leave _Closet_ there, so I decided to expand upon it.

* * *

Trent doesn't like the rain. California doesn't _do_ it right - it rains once or twice a year and when it happens, they only get maybe an inch or two worth of water. It surprises him, then, that it's raining so fucking _hard_ today; his windshield wipers are going at full speed, and the normal speed of forty-five is just _too fast_ for the slick roads. 

He isn't a reckless driver, not by a long shot - he wouldn't risk crashing his car just to speed through a red light or down an empty street during the pouring rain - and so he reduces his speed properly, checking the road for obstacles that could keep him from getting to the party on time. He's been looking forward to this for weeks - a new party means a new chance to switch up his memories and replace one for another - and he's not about to crash into a lamppost and miss it.

He's not really expecting much: a cat, a dumped cone, whatever. Still, his eyes keep a lookout for anything that could scratch his paint, and they catch, after a moment, on a slumped figure walking along the sidewalk up ahead. Water's soaked through his shirt and those stupid khaki skater shorts, his hair hanging limp and flat in thick clumps over his face.

Trent remembers a dank, dark closet, heated breath and awkward fumblings, and so it comes only as a mild surprise to him when he finds himself pulling up alongside Miles, popping the lock and briefly honking his horn. The boy jumps, turning sharply and staring at Trent through tinted windows. He pops the lock again, the sound clicking in the cold rain, and gives the blonde an annoyed, _hurry-the-fuck-up_ sort of look - Miles pauses a moment longer before coming to the passenger-side door, prying it open to stare inside at Trent.

"...Just get in," he mumbles after a long moment, grabbing his backpack out of the front seat and dropping it into the back. Miles makes a small sound before climbing in, running his hands through his hair and getting water everywhere. It doesn't annoy Trent as much as it would normally, a bigger surprise in itself. He pulls away from the curb, both of them in complete, awkward silence. He doesn't even know where Miles lives.

After a moment, he ventures to start some conversation. "...It's raining hard, huh."

"I noticed." Miles' voice is dry, a little curt out of awkwardness, and Trent falls back into silence. He doesn't speak again - neither of them do - until they reach the intersection of Main and Elm. "A left here," Miles rasps; Trent flips the turn signal on and listens to the clicks sound like gunfire in the quiet car. He spares a glance at the other once they're through the turn - Miles' mouth is slightly agape as he looks out the window, lounging uncomfortably in the leather upholstery that's now soaked itself. _Oh, God, he's..._

"Another left here."

Trent takes the direction without a thought, trying to ignore the awkwardness of the situation. He's sure that he's going to Hell for even continuing to think about it - he hasn't gone to church in five years and now he's thinking of pushing Miles' face into his lap. _God must hate me so hard._

Miles points out his house - a nice little two-story, just like the other houses in the area - and Trent notices the empty driveway almost as quickly as he notices that the lights are off. He pulls into the driveway and puts the car in park, and then kills the engine. They need to talk, or _something_ -

"...You, uh. Wanna come in?"

Trent looks at Miles, who isn't directly looking at him but at his own lap, not quite shy but...

"...Sure." Never mind that it's pouring outside and it makes no sense for Trent to stay any longer.

They don't really race each other to the kitchen porch, but there's a strange sort of energy inside Trent once they reach the covered area, his hair already hanging a bit in his face, shirt and track pants not quite soaked yet. Miles fumbles for the key - he doesn't even have a car, Trent notices, just a house key and a locker key and what's probably a key for a lockbox - and once the door's open, he gestures for Trent to go first.

There's a large dog bed in the corner of the kitchen, an equally large mastiff napping in it; the dog raises his head when the door clicks shut, barreling out of the bed and into Miles only a few moments later. The boy laughs, almost awkwardly, and Trent avoids looking at him, eyeing the dog instead.

"...Nice, uh, dog."

_Fucking lame._

"Thanks," Miles responds, taking the awkward compliment in a stride. "His name's Mason."

Miles plays kind of rough with the dog, but not too badly - the dog's probably bigger than him, really, so it makes sense. Asserting dominance. Trent's done it himself.

Mason abandons Miles when the boy finally rises from a crouch, getting up to go to the fridge - he spies Trent, and immediately comes to investigate. The other crouches down a bit himself, giving the mastiff a scratch behind the ears. "Hey, buddy."

Mason _whuffs,_ a low kind of noise, tail wagging at no less than sixty miles per hour. Trent grins and gives him a quick back-scratch before standing again.

"You, uh... Want a Pepsi?"

"...Sure."

He was supposed to be going to a party to drink and get laid, and instead he's petting a giant dog and accepting soda from the guy he jerked off in a closet. _Jesus Christ._

Miles hands a can to Trent, leaning slightly awkwardly against the kitchen counter, setting his own can down for the time being. More awkward silence ensues; Trent tries to drink the soda but it's too sweet and his throat is kind of tight, so he just holds the can, looking away from the other boy.

After a long moment, Miles speaks up, voice quiet and filled with that teenage apprehension Trent thought he'd never feel so strongly in his life. "...Look, uh..."

"Don't."

Miles cuts himself off with a wince, quickly picking up his drink and taking a long gulp, and Trent feels kind of miserable.

"...Look," he finally says, quiet himself, "I... uh. I don't _do_ that. I'm not, um... Like that, or anything."

"I know," Miles responds with more certainty than Trent has himself. "I... We were really drunk. I don't drink a lot. I'm a cheap date." He laughs, tensely, and Trent forces himself to smile at him for a moment, before looking away.

"So... I don't know what you, uh, wanna say, but..."

Miles looks away, then back at Trent, eyes going over his profile in morbid curiosity. When he speaks, it sounds as though it hurts to ask. "...So, uh... A-All that, um, stuff you s-said..."

Trent swears internally at his tensing stomach and looks at Miles. He tries to say something more definitive but... "...I was really drunk."

Miles leans back, heavily, against the counter, and Trent suddenly thinks, _I want him to make that noise again._

"...I f-figured. I was just. You know. Asking."

They look away from one another again, and Trent finds himself talking before he can stop himself. "Uh... Have you, um. Done that before? I mean. Not just... _that_, but."

Miles sighs and looks at Trent. "Yeah. Uh. Once."

"...Was it, uh, with Witwicky?"

The blonde looks at Trent for a long moment, before smiling thinly. "No."

"...Oh."

Trent looks away and takes a drink of his Pepsi, tight throat be damned.

"...I liked looking at you better, anyways."

It's a nearly inaudible comment, and Trent exhales through his mouth, staring at Miles in... He's not even sure what he's feeling. This is weird territory - _wrong_ territory, _bad_ territory - and he's out of his element.

Miles himself looks pale at the thought of saying it aloud, but his mouth's still moving - possibly in shock of just... saying it. "When you, uh... When you were - I... I was looking up at you and you were just, like, so into it and I..."

He takes a long drink and tries to shift away into the counter, pale and shaking slightly, the words _still_ coming - _Why hasn't he shut up yet?_ "I just, like... I kind of wanted you but, like, it wasn't anything serious, but then you were, like, talking to me and I thought you were more like, just a, y'know, pretty face but you kind of knew what was going on too and you were kind of smart, and I didn't think you would be because I didn't think about you like that because I didn't want to do something stupid and I didn't want to start talking to you because I kind of start to ramble when I'm nervous and you make me so nervous I just..."

Miles shudders and his lips do that little parting thing, exhaling softly with wet hair over his face, and Trent can't even come up with anything to say.

"...I, uh, yeah, I just... I um..." Miles shifts, looking just a bit nearer than before, and he barely even says, "_Trent,_" the other barely even hearing it but hearing it so _loudly_...

"Y-You, uh... I should..." Trent's heart is pounding and his stomach is in knots, an almost-sick feeling rising. "I... I don't, I don't _do that_..."

"I know," Miles murmurs, eyes wide and chest visibly rising and falling, "I know, I just, uh, wanted to say it - needed to say it because I'll go insane if - not like I'm not already, uh, insane, I guess, I mean, I just - when y-you said I was so hot _God_ that turned me on so badly Trent_-_"

"Stop," Trent rasps, too quietly because Miles doesn't seem to hear him.

"God, I know I know you don't but you were so _hot_, I just, I couldn't help it, I can't help it, I'm sorry, I'm really really s-sorry, y-you should, uh, leave, before-"

Trent moans to himself, quietly, staring at Miles in abject horror. "Stop," he repeats faintly, hand clenched around the can he's holding. "Just - Miles, stop, please-"

"I won't tell anyone, I just, _please Trent_."

There's that hint of a whine in his tone and Trent drops the soda can, spilling it everywhere and stepping forward, pressing up against Miles and trying to look angry but not feeling it.

"_Stop._"

Miles falls silent and stares at him with wide, scared eyes, whole body posture screaming _he's going to hit me_ to the jock.

"I d-don't, I don't do that and I don't w-want you-" The blonde winces slightly and looks off to the side, and Trent stares at him. _I __do__ want him oh, God, I'm going to Hell, please let this all be a fucking dream..._ "Miles, _fuck-_"

The next few minutes are a tangle of limbs and tongues and mouths, hands grabbing at pants and shirts, stripping the clothes in a frantic and scared way - _This is all going to end, his parents are going to walk in, oh God oh God_ - and all Trent can do is gasp for air, Miles' nails scraping over his chest and sending shudders down his spine.

"Oh, _God,_ Trent, p-please...!"

"I'm going, I-I'm trying," the jock mumbles into Miles' mouth, hands pulling at the blonde's shorts, hands shaking so badly he can't even get a hold of the belt loops -

Mason _whuffs_ again and Miles freezes, they both freeze, staring at each other in shock -

"Please don't stop."

Trent can't believe he's said it but he has, and Miles moans, pushing at him, whispering, "Bed, bed, upstairs, please, God, don't let me stop, please-"

They really do race this time, clinging to their remaining clothes and dragging their shirts with them, Miles beating Trent because he knows which room is his, nearly crying as he slams the door shut behind them.

"I don't - we can't, Miles, I don't-"

"Don't," Miles rasps, leaning against the door, shorts dropping so dangerously low, "God, Trent, please, just..."

There's no alcohol to blame this on and Trent shudders, looking around the room decked out in skate posters and the big, geeked-out computer, and he shivers, stepping back into the room, towards the bed, away from Miles, whose hand is drifting along his own stomach - oh _God._

"I-I... If... If we stop, God, I'm never going to be able - I can't just..."

Everything's shuddering with Trent as he steps forward, hands reaching for Miles for a moment before pulling back. "Fuck, Miles..." He moves even closer, Miles' breath hitching as he does so, and he hears himself asking, "What won't you be able to do?" And he says it in _that_ voice, the one he used in the closet -

Miles moans, licking his lips. "God, Trent, _please,_ I'll never be able to sleep if we don't, I just keep thinking about it and oh, man, it turns me on _so badly,_ I d-didn't mean to do this, I just - I can't help it, _oh God, please._"

Trent gasps for air and pushes against Miles, now, pushing him up against the door and leaning in close. "Fuck, Miles, I-"

The blonde doesn't let him finish, leaning in and mashing their mouths together in urgency, grinding up against the jock and causing him to groan.

"_Please,_" he whispers against Trent's mouth, "Please, at least d-do _something_."

Trent grinds back and moans, shaking his head, "I want - but if I do-"

"It's just us, I promise, oh _God_ do that again, don't ever stop..."

They spend who knows how long grinding against each other, mouths meeting and coming away and meeting again, and Miles shudders, pushing against him. "Bed, please, bed," he repeats, and Trent steps with him, the backs of his legs hitting the mattress before the rest of him. He sits down, heavily, and pulls Miles with him, falling back and staring up at Miles, who's shaking so badly...

"God," he whispers, "You're so hot."

"You're just saying that," the blonde responds weakly, leaning over him.

"I'm not drunk. You're so hot, baby, just... Rock your hips." Miles is staring at him and he wonders if the other is tired of words - and then he rolls his hips, grinding Trent down into the bed. The jock moans, biting his lip and bringing his hands up to those half-curved hips, pulling him down harder. "God, baby, just fucking like _that_..."

Miles is panting, pressing down hard and giving little cries every so often. "Trent, God, please, keep talking, you don't know what you're doing to me..."

"_Miles,_" he hisses, arching up and pulling at the other, "Miles, Miles, Miles."

This is a horrible idea, and Trent knows it, pulling Miles' shorts down just a little further, hands sliding across smooth skin and bringing him down hard, working shorts off and, once they're far enough down to start to slide without his help, he starts on his own pants, kicking them off hastily, denim still hanging onto one leg.

"Trent..."

Miles' voice is full of apprehension but Trent ignores it, pushing the other off him and onto the bed, hands touching whatever skin that's available, and it's _all _available.

"T-Trent..." Far less apprehensive now, more needy with that _whine_, so help him God that's going to do him in. Trent's pushing the blonde into the bed, his mouth on Miles' mouth, on his ear, on his neck - all places he knows well, all places he's comfortable with - while his hands are everywhere else, all the places he's uncomfortable and scared of. Miles moans and twists into every touch, every bite - "Trent..."

"Don't know what I'm doing," the jock mumbles against Miles' ear, "Don't know what I'm doing..."

"D-Doesn't - aah! - matter, jus... oh, God, _don't stop_..."

Miles' hands find Trent's flat stomach and he trails them shakily downward, shuddering and drawing a low moan out from the other.

"Oh, _fuck,_ baby..."

Miles' breath is hot and ragged on his skin, sweaty forehead pressed against the crook of his neck, hands all over; Trent pulls a hand away to hold himself steady, jerking his hips into Miles' grip, hissing quietly until his entire body shudders, going still for a few seconds as Miles' hands slide away slowly. He stares at the other, who looks back with glazed eyes, lips parted and chapped, and then collapses onto his side next to the blonde, eyes closing and hand clenching.

Miles makes that little noise that Trent can recall with such clarity, and starts to almost mimic the jock's earlier movements, pumping his hips up against Trent's fist in several hard, quick jerks.

"T-Trent-"

He opens his eyes and stares - Miles is staring back and there's this _thing_ there, in his eyes, that Trent hasn't seen before, _ever._ He can't even describe it, hand tightening further and breath coming in sharp little waves. "God, Miles, you're..."

The blonde's flushed face turns away from him and he watches Miles moan, shaking and twisting - and he's never thought about another guy like this but Miles is...

He wipes his hand on the sheets but, unlike before, he doesn't move to stand. He just lays there and closes his eyes, breathing slow and heavy.

"...Are you..."

Trent sighs and tilts his head in a half nod, feeling a hand touch his shoulder. "Fine." His voice is rough and he opens his eyes, looking at Miles looking at him. The room is silent, save for their heavy breathing and the rain against the roof.

"...Thank you."

Miles' voice is very quiet and Trent doesn't hear it at first - then he does, and he manages to smile lopsidedly in response, which gets _him_ a smile back.

"...Probably should go," Trent finally says after another few minutes of silence.

"...Uh, if... Probably."

He rises to stand, stumbling over their combined pile of clothes before digging his own out of it. He dresses with his back to Miles - unable to or just unwilling to look, he's not sure. When he does finally turn around, pulling his shirt over his head, he's not surprised to see Miles already with his shorts back on, still watching him.

"...I, uh. Don't worry... I won't, uh, tell anyone. Or anything."

Trent looks at Miles but he doesn't see that _something_ in his eyes, and so he relaxes slightly. "Okay. Uh, good. Thanks." He backs up a step, looking over his shoulder at the door. He can find his own way out. Miles approaches him, though, and he doesn't move, not even when he puts his hands on Trent's hips. "...Don't do this."

The blonde looks hurt, again for only a second, and he steps backwards. "Right, um. Okay."

Trent turns and doesn't quite run from the room, but his pace is anything but leisurely as he makes his way downstairs, not pausing to give the mastiff another look, the door slamming behind him before he can even think that he shouldn't leave Miles like that. He's in his car and down the street before he considers turning around and apologizing for not being that kind of guy.

He's at the party and talking with this really beautiful redhead before he wonders what would have happened if he stayed.

He's home, alone, at dawn, lying in his bed with his hand under the covers when he thinks that this might be the biggest surprise of them all.

(He'll never tell anyone, but Miles stays on his mind for hours at a time for weeks after that.)

* * *

_ Now I think we're taking this too far... Don't you know that it's not this hard?_


End file.
